


Fillory's Grace

by elliex



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: A Life in the Day, M/M, Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 12:26:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17304605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliex/pseuds/elliex
Summary: Quentin brushed a strand of hair that had fallen from his bun back behind his ear, leaving a pink smudge across his cheek.A rush of warmth enveloped Eliot, a reminder that he loved more than just Fillory.





	Fillory's Grace

**Author's Note:**

> I am fairly new to _The Magicians_ television show, and I haven't read the books. 
> 
> However, I watched season 3, and "A Life in the Day" broke my brain. I already loved Eliot, and his relationship with Quentin has officially put them on my list of fave OTPs. After the season 3 finale, I desperately needed some Eliot/Quentin fluff, so this little fic happened.
> 
> If you read, I hope you enjoy. It was fun to write, but I am so new to this corner of fandom that I have little sense of how the fic scale operates -- be gentle, please <3

#

 

Eliot lay on the grass, arms behind his head, eyes shut against the warm afternoon sun. He focused on the sounds of birdsong, rustling grass, and swaying trees.

 

He loved Fillory – even past Fillory.

 

He turned his head and cracked one eye half-open. Quentin was studiously marking the latest pattern, his head bowed over the page, his mouth pursed just so, his long fingers guiding the chalk in his quest to make a record of Eliot’s work.

 

Quentin brushed a strand of hair that had fallen from his bun back behind his ear, leaving a pink smudge across his cheek.

 

A rush of warmth enveloped Eliot, a reminder that he loved more than just Fillory.

 

Quentin looked towards Eliot, raising a quizzical eyebrow. “Get enough beauty sleep, yet?,” he called out.

 

Eliot snorted and turned his face to the sky. “Like I need sleep to be beautiful.”

 

Eliot would’ve never heard the whispered “true” on a regular day. But today, Eliot had cast a spell that allowed him to hear all the birds of the forest – the only version of an outdoor concert life afforded him lately.

 

Eliot’s cheeks started to hurt, and he realized he was grinning. Then he realized he _felt_ this smile, bone deep – soul deep, even.

 

He lay in the grass a few more long moments, soaking up the sun’s rays. He felt the fatigue of laying tile since dawn – a burst of inspiration had woken him in the wee hours of the morning, and he’d had two rows laid before Quentin had even woken up.

 

He’d laid the last tile and stepped back, his arms akimbo, and surveyed his artistry. The calico cat who’d found them a few weeks ago, wove between his legs before striking out on the newly finished design.

 

“No! No, kitty,” Eliot had called out, reaching for her before the magic could hurt her. She’d meowed and deftly slipped out of reach, darting across the mosaic and into the grass on the other side.

 

Eliot had sighed – He’d been so sure this was it.

 

A hand had grasped his right shoulder and squeezed. “It’s a great design, El,” Q had said.

 

“But not the _right_ design,” Eliot had said with some bitterness.

 

“It’s the right design for today – it takes us one step closer to fulfilling our quest.”

 

Eliot had looked down at him with narrowed eyes. “Who are you and what have you done with Quentin Coldwater?”

 

Quentin had shrugged and smiled bashfully. “Today’s my day to be positive. It’ll be your turn tomorrow. I’ll draw it now, okay?”

 

They’d stared in each other’s eyes for a long moment before Q cleared his throat and dropped his hand. “I’ll – uh – get started now.”

 

Eliot had reached out with his left hand and tucked the loose strand of hair behind Quentin’s ear. “Thank you, Q.”

 

Quentin had smiled and settled in to work, leaving Eliot to find his favorite spot in the grass and settle in for an afternoon concert and nap.

 

Now, Q’s whispered answer rang as loud as church bells in Eliot’s ears.

 

He sat up and bent his knees, wrapping his arms tightly around them, and watched Q walk the mosaic’s perimeter, making the final marks in the pattern book.

 

“All done?,” he called out.

 

Quentin waved the book in response, tossing it on the wooden outdoor table before joining Eliot on the grass.

 

“Here for the concert?,” Eliot asked with a grin.

 

“The what?”

 

Instead of answering, Eliot performed the spell and watched Quentin’s eyes light up as the birdsong filled his ears, too.

 

“What – why are there so many?”

 

“They’re traveling to the southlands.” Eliot shrugged at his friend’s surprised look. “I noticed them last year, though too late to take advantage then. We might not have Lin-Manuel Miranda here, but y’know, nature’s bounty and all that.”

 

Quentin shut his eyes and listened. Eliot watched the late afternoon light play across Q’s face.

 

Eliot stood, startling Quentin out of his reverie. He bowed slightly and held out his hand. “May I have this dance?”

 

Quentin tilted his head as if trying to figure out if Eliot was serious. Eliot nudged Quentin’s foot with his own.

 

“C’mon, Q, dance with me,” he pleaded. It was only partly a joking plea.

 

Quentin grasped Eliot’s outstretched hand and clambered to his feet, allowing Eliot to guide him across nature’s dance floor.

 

Hours later, after dancing every partnered dance Eliot could think of while the birds sang and after the sky had filled with the vivid colors of a setting sun, they collapsed onto the outdoor bed. Eliot couldn’t stop smiling, and Quentin’s eyes shone brightly. It had been a good day, Eliot thought.

 

They lay on the bed side-by-side, arms folded across their chests, watching the sky. A gentle breeze slipped across the clearing.

 

“That was fun,” Eliot said.  

 

“It was,” Quentin agreed. After a pause, he added, “Sorry I’m not a graceful dancer.”

 

“You’re amazing.”

 

“Liar.” Quentin pointed to the first star to appear in the evening sky. “Look.”

 

“Amazing.”

 

“Isn’t it?”

 

Eliot turned onto his side, towards Quentin. “I’m talking about you, Q.”

 

“Uh – what?” Quentin turned onto his side and met Eliot’s searching gaze.

 

Eliot traced Quentin’s face with his index finger. “I’m talking about you,” he repeated. “You’re always amazing to me.”

 

“I bet you say that to all your quest partners,” Quentin whispered.

 

“Not hardly.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Honest and for true,” Eliot whispered, holding Quentin’s gaze.

 

The birdsong spell had long since ended, and only the rustling of the quilt interrupted the quiet of the late evening as they simultaneously edged closer together.

 

Under the dawning night sky, they spoke of hopes and dreams and wishes – of the past, the present, and even the future.

 

“And when we get back, what then?” The worry in Quentin’s voice stabbed at Eliot’s heart.

 

“Then we’re back. But we’re still us. We’re still – _this_ ,” Eliot answered. He kissed Quentin then and tried to channel as much of the emotion he was feeling as he could.

 

Q seemed to be doing the same. The simple kiss turned into one deep and searching and physical – and when they broke apart, it took a second for Eliot to remember how to breathe.

 

“Wow,” he murmured.

 

“Yeah,” Quentin said, laying his head on Eliot’s chest.

 

“So _this_ is good for you, then?” Eliot asked with a wry smile.

 

“ _This_ is very good for me.” Quentin kissed Eliot’s chest, and it burned through El’s woven shirt like a brand.

 

Eliot rubbed the small of Quentin’s back with one hand and used the other to run his fingers through Q’s hair, which had long since come loose from its fastening.

 

“You know, you said you weren’t graceful—”

 

Quentin snorted against Eliot’s chest. “M’not.”

 

“ _Au contraire_ , my dear Q – you are in fact _grace-full_. All of this – after what I’ve done—“

 

“—after what I’ve done,” interrupted Quentin.

 

“—after what we’ve _both_ done,” Eliot clarified firmly, “This? It’s grace.”

 

Quentin was quiet for a long moment. “Yeah, I like that. What’d we do to deserve a lifetime of grace?”

 

“A lifetime?”

 

“Well, you said we’re _this_ no matter where or when we are, right?”

 

“I did.”

 

“Then, y’know… _lifetime_.”

 

Eliot kissed the top of Quentin’s head. “I love you too.”

 

Quentin snuggled even closer, and Eliot knew – deep in the marrow of his bones and the timbre of his soul – he wouldn’t trade this for anything.

 

#

 


End file.
